


a wreck you make

by gaywoodandbine



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, F/F, Infidelity, Semi-Public Sex, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 20:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywoodandbine/pseuds/gaywoodandbine
Summary: When you're drunk, texting your ex is always a bad idea. Izzy takes it a step further.She's always been an overachiever.





	a wreck you make

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic contains dubious consent. Consent is not discussed out loud and one character is mildly inebriated. Please bear this in mind. If any of this, in any way, bothers you, please do not continue beyond this point. 
> 
> Many thanks to [glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon) for giving this a polish. <3
> 
> Title from Terrible Thing by AG

Izzy’s drunk. Enough to feel it. Enough to make some really fucking dumb decisions but not enough she doesn’t know it. It’s how she finds herself taking the familiar route to a trendy Brooklyn high-rise. It’s how she ends up barefoot, high heels hooked on one finger and knocking on the door of an apartment on the sixth floor. 

There’s a rough dent in the frame that grabs at the seam of her jeans when she leans heavily against it for support. She wonders if Clary still has the couch that caused it. 

The door opens, and Izzy’s breath catches in her throat, heart aching at the sight of Clary Fray looking back at her, green eyes wide and stunned. 

“... Izzy.”

There’s the sounds of a party in full swing behind her, and fuck -- shit. She’d forgotten that was tonight, and isn’t that just the story of their entire fucking relationship. She remembers seeing the invitation on Alec’s counter. Of course, Clary would still invite her brother. They’d all been friends before, even if Clary and Alec’s definition of the word was a little more antagonistic than most. 

He’s not here. She knows he isn’t. She’d told him he could, but Alec’s fiercely protective of his loved ones. 

This close, Izzy can smell Clary’s perfume. She knows exactly the spots on her neck where she dabbed it, the points on her wrists, and Izzy’s eyes trail down to the dip between her breasts where she knows there’s another, where she’s buried her nose more times than she can count. 

There’s movement over Clary’s shoulder, and then Simon Lewis peeks out, a smile lighting up his face when he sees who’s at their door.

“Izzy! Hey, are you here for the party? You should come in. I think we’ve got a couple bottles of that beer you like still in the fridge.” 

He’s all smiles as if he and Izzy are still friends, as if she didn’t lose him in the “divorce” and he didn’t sweep in to pick up all the pieces that Izzy broke. He’s always all smiles, friendly and accomodating and so goddamn nice that Izzy wants to punch him in the teeth even if she would feel bad about it.

Her own smile is a little too sharp, but it doesn’t seem to faze him, at all, “No, Simon. I’m not here for the party. I’m just here to borrow your girlfriend for a minute. Need to talk to her.”

“Oh okay, sure. I’ll leave you to it. Hey, it was nice to see you again,” he answers in the same cheerful tone, and then he’s ducking back inside.

Clary pulls the door closed behind her, shutting out the sounds of laughter and talking and music from the room beyond, and then it’s just the two of them out here, alone in the hallway. Clary pushes past Izzy and only stops when she’s a safe enough distance away from her own front door. She rounds on Izzy and crosses her arms over her chest, staring her down expectantly.

“Well? What’d you need to talk about so badly that you had to come all the way to my home? You could have called. Texted.”

“Would you have answered?” Izzy snaps back.

Clary doesn’t say anything which is answer enough, really.

Izzy snorts, wobbling a bit as she takes a step back. The dress Clary’s wearing barely hits her knees, showing off those long, beautiful legs. She reaches out, fingers brushing the fringe that dangles from the edge of the fabric and in turn has her touching the soft skin of Clary’s thigh. Clary doesn’t move away from Izzy’s touch, but her face is impassive.

“You look nice,” Izzy whispers. God, she does. She’s gorgeous, even standing closed off and defensive. Her red hair is piled up on her head, wavy locks of it framing her face and falling along her shoulders. 

“Izzy.”

“I missed you,” she blurts out, the words tumbling out of her before she’s even really thought to say them.

Something passes across Clary’s face, but Izzy doesn’t know what it means. She used to be able to read Clary like an open book, but she’s a blank page, now. 

“You don’t get to miss me. You sure as hell didn’t when you were forgetting dinner reservations and events and gallery openings,” Clary bites her bottom lip, shaking her head, “Don’t do this. Go home. Sleep it off.”

The idea of turning tail and running makes Izzy feel sick to her stomach, and she crowds in closer to Clary, instead. She can’t leave without making Clary understand how much she does miss her. Clary takes a step back and away, but there’s no more hall left to go. She thuds up against the wall behind her. If she wanted to leave, she could. Izzy would never make her stay, _couldn’t_ make her stay if she didn’t want to. After all, that’s why Izzy is out here, and Simon sleeps in the spot that used to belong to her. So the fact that Clary hasn’t turned her back and walked away already sends a little frisson of hope sparking through her chest.

Testing the boundaries, Izzy presses herself closer, breasts pushing into Clary’s arm. She drops her shoes to the floor and lets her hand rest against Clary’s waist. 

“Iz…” Clary’s breath is coming a little faster, and God, Izzy almost forgot how good it is to have all that attention focused on her. She tilts her head down, pressing a kiss to the sweet curve of a shoulder, to a delicate clavicle, to the base of her throat. 

“Does Simon know? Does he know that he’s your safety net?” Izzy smiles, pleased at the shaky breath Clary lets out. Her lips trace a path upwards until she presses a biting kiss to the hinge of Clary’s jaw. 

“Stable, sweet Simon. Always reliable.”

“There’s nothing wrong with reliable. Or stable. Simon’s good to me,” Clary says, her voice coming out in a sigh that Izzy’s sure she doesn’t realize she’s doing.

“Mm, I’m sure he is. You deserve someone who’s good to you. Not like I was.”

Izzy’s fingertips drift lower, teasing along the inside of Clary’s thighs and stroking in maddening, light brushes before slowly easing up beneath her skirt, “But does he fuck you as good as I did?”

She buries her hand between Clary’s legs and traces over her clit through the thin fabric of her panties in the same torturous rhythm. Izzy pulls her head back just enough to focus on Clary’s face, watching as her eyes flutter shut, throat bobbing as she swallows hard. 

Clary doesn’t answer her question, not that she expects her to, and the only sound out of her is a whimper as she lets her head tip back against the wall. Her hand is fisted in Izzy’s jacket, dragging her closer as Izzy eases Clary’s panties to the side and traces her fingers through the slick folds of her cunt. She’s so fucking wet already, and Izzy gets her other hand tangled in Clary’s hair, drawing her into a kiss as she finally slides two fingers inside of her. Clary’s hips jerk forward, and she moans into Izzy’s mouth, high and wrecked.

Fuck, the sounds she makes, the smell of her, the familiar feel of her body in Izzy’s hands - she should be ashamed for this. Simon is a good man, and he’s just down the hall and one door away while his girlfriend rides her ex’s fingers. 

She can’t find it in herself to be.

Her own heart is racing in her chest, so turned on she thinks she could probably get off with just the barest touch against her clit. She can feel her underwear is soaked through, and she wants to shove a hand down her own pants and chase after the orgasm she’s reaching the edge of. Instead, she untangles her fingers from Clary’s hair and yanks at the thin little strap that’s the only thing holding Clary’s dress in place. It easily falls down her shoulder, the flimsy fabric sliding down Clary’s breast. 

God, she’s a sight. Half-naked in the open hallway where anyone could walk by, her dress bunched up around her waist and falling off her shoulder. She almost wants someone to open up their door and see them, walk by and get an eyeful of what Izzy does to her, what she can still do to her. 

She grazes her thumb across Clary’s nipple and feels her cunt squeeze around her fingers. Her breath is coming heavy and fast, hips rolling against Izzy’s hand, her clit rubbing against the heel of her palm. She’s going to come soon. There’s the tell-tale hitch in her breath, a restlessness in her hands as she clenches and unclenches her fingers in Izzy’s jacket over and over. 

Izzy dips her head, closing her lips around Clary’s nipple and sucking hard. It’s the last thing it takes. Clary makes an almost wounded noise in her throat, letting go of Izzy’s jacket with one hand to slap it over her own mouth, and her hips keep pumping forward as her cunt throbs around Izzy’s fingers. 

If Izzy could, she’d make her let all those beautiful fucking sounds echo out into the hall, but she’s too busy fumbling one-handed at the button of her jeans. She rips them open finally and works her own fingers passed the waistband of her underwear. It’s an awkward angle, and her wrist hurts a bit, pants too fucking tight -- why the fuck did she wear these? But she’s so fucking close that all it takes is the pads of her fingers brushing against her clit to have her bury her face against Clary’s throat to muffle her cry as she comes.

They catch their breath in silence, but too soon, Clary’s pulling away. She yanks her dress back down, smoothing out the wrinkles and tugs the strap back up over her shoulder. Izzy can still see the wet shine of where her mouth was before the dress covers her again. 

She does up her jeans as Clary fixes her hair back into place. She still looks shaky, a flush high in her cheeks. Her lips are red and swollen from their kiss, and Izzy wonders if Simon will notice, if he’ll put two and two together. 

Clary’s voice is hoarse when she finally breaks the quiet, “This doesn’t happen again, Izzy. I think it’s best if you don’t come around here anymore.”

Izzy isn’t expecting afterglow cuddles, but it’s such an abrupt dismissal that she can feel her face grow hot. Ah, there’s that shame she was missing.

“Right.”

Nodding, she bends down to grab her heels. Her head feels a bit more clear, but she still doesn’t trust her balance to try and put them back on. She’ll find a seat in the lobby downstairs once she calls an Uber. Taking a deep breath, she glances around for the direction of the elevators, doing her best not to look at Clary. 

She gets halfway back down the hall before Clary’s voice halts her in her tracks. She feels stupid and foolish for the hope that still rises up again at the sound of her name, but she turns anyway, meeting Clary’s gaze. There’s the barest hint of a smile teasing at the corner of her lips.

“Izzy. You were good to me, too.”

It was a bad idea to come here. She’ll be hurting in the morning, not just from the hangover, but she doesn’t have it in her to ever regret Clary.

“But not enough,” Izzy replies, giving her a wry smile in return before turning back to head for the elevators.

In her head, Clary comes after her. She grabs her arm and swings her around, gets her hands tangled in Izzy’s hair and kisses her. Maybe they talk things out, maybe they don’t. But either way, Izzy doesn’t leave feeling even more alone than she did when she arrived. 

In the real world, Clary doesn’t come after her, and when Izzy reaches the elevator, she looks back to find Clary standing exactly where she left her. There’s sadness on her face, and isn’t that just like Izzy to leave her upset on a day that’s supposed to be a celebration. Some things never change. The elevator doors slide open, and Izzy steps inside. 

They close on an empty hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://gaywoodandbine.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaywoodandbine) if you'd like to come find me


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